


slipped through his fingers

by starforged



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Gen, Jon Has No Purpose, Spoilers for 803, Stark Babies Family Feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-07
Updated: 2019-05-07
Packaged: 2020-02-27 12:11:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18738766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starforged/pseuds/starforged
Summary: There will be songs of Arya Stark for thousands of years to come. He’s proud. He’s afraid.





	slipped through his fingers

He’s glad, truly he is. There’s a sense of relief in the giddy air that surrounds Winterfell and those that have survived. He tries to not think about the deaths anymore than he tries to not think about how he managed to live this time. So close, he was so close to death, to the Night King. 

He’s glad, truly he is, but there’s a sense of emptiness that carves out even more of the hollowness that has buried inside of his veins. For so long he has rallied and fought and lost and gained over this battle, the Long Night and the end of the world. For so long, he has devoted his second being into saving Westeros and destroying the White Walkers, destroying the one king who truly has mattered all these years. 

And it’s slipped through his fingers. 

He has never thought about what he would do once he had killed the Night King. And now he’s not sure what he will do since he _didn’t_. 

Arya sits next to him on a broken slab of wall, silently watching those that still lived gather up the bodies. She had brought Theon back with her, slung over her shoulder, even as she managed to push Bran in his chair. One dead, one - the last king on the board. 

He puts his arm around her shoulders, and she leans her head on his chest. She’s so small still, as if she’s never quite grown up. The task shouldn’t have been left to her, but there’s a stirring in his gut that says it’s never been his to begin with. Like he built up his own destiny without actually consulting the other forces around them, the ones that shaped the world. 

He’s not angry at his sister, not jealous, just lost. Uncertain. She didn’t take from him, but she holds something he never can. 

Jon holds her tighter. “You did it,” he murmurs.

“Yeah,” she gruffs back. “Sorry, I saw an opening.”  


“You got him with the pointy end.”  


She looks up at him, and he glances down. Blood and dirt streak across her face, and the exhaustion that stares at him is a twin to his own. There will be songs of Arya Stark for thousands of years to come. He’s proud. He’s afraid. 

“What do we do now?” she asks him, and she almost sounds like a little girl again, almost sounds like his baby sister.   


Almost sounds like she’s run out of a purpose. 

“Tell me where you’ve been, Arya,” Jon finally says. “What you’ve seen.”  


“It’s a long story.”  


“It’ll be a long morning.”  



End file.
